


Breaking the Rules

by venea_taur



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anxiety Attacks, Conditioning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forced Feeding, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 12:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17162333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venea_taur/pseuds/venea_taur
Summary: Aramis has been held captive and tortured for three months. When Athos and Porthos find him, he's not the same man they knew.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My entry into the Winter Whumpland. I hope that this is good. It kept going on and finding a decent ending was tricky.

They’re exhausted when they find him, the tip they scared out of a couple of guys proving accurate. By the time they force their way through the men guarding the cellar, killing every man with little thought, they’ve ridden nearly non-stop for hours, stopping only to make sure of their route. The cellar is more difficult being shut tight with a thick lock and heavy stones stacked on top.

Porthos starts removing stones while Athos searches for the key. Sweaty, exhausted, bloodied, and evermore worried, they finally break through hours later as the sun is setting, bathing the forest in golden rays. Glancing down in the cellar, the light disappears. Athos lights the lantern he finds at the top of the steps and they go down, as quick as they dare on the short, uneven steps. No more than a few steps down and they’re hit with a smell so foul they turn to vomit. The stench doesn’t let them continue until they’ve tied cloths around their noses, which blocks enough of the smell that they can continue. Aramis is down there in this darkness and foul odor and not once has he made a noise.

Their stomachs drop and they throw caution to the wind, finishing the steps in a flurry. The space at the bottom of the steps is small, a few feet wide and twice as deep. In a corner, dressed in rags that once were the proud uniform of the regiment, dirty and thin, he huddles on his side away from them, the only sign of life a steady shaking. As they approach, the smell grows and they realize it’s the vomit and feces around him. He lays in it and it clings to him in dried clumps.

Porthos and Athos swallow heavily.

Where is their defiant friend? The man who will literally laugh at danger as if nothing could bring his demise. Where is their charmed, charismatic brother? The man who makes the worst of plans work. And who is this man?

“Let’s just get him up and out of here,” Porthos says gruffly. He won’t allow anything else at the moment because he’s a Musketeer and stronger than that. Athos nods and steps forward with Porthos to pull Aramis on to his back so they can get him upstairs.

It’s no more than a touch, the barest tip of a finger it seems to Athos, and Aramis flies quicker than ever. He scurries upright to the other corner, head bowed, arms folded over his head. The new position reveals a multitude of new concerns: bruises, burns, new scars, and, worse still, his ribs. Through the shredded clothing, they see how his skin clings to his bones.

“Damn,” Porthos curses quietly. “How long do you think he’s been down here?”

“The last few months, I suspect. Since he was taken.”

Porthos curses again, louder and angrier. Aramis finds it possible to burrow deeper into himself and Porthos curses again.

“Let’s just get him out of here,” Athos says. “It’s not going to be pleasant anyway for him, so let’s just get him out of here and we can take care of him then. Okay?” Athos is a seasoned soldier. He’s served in wars. He rescued captives in similarly dire conditions. But this is Aramis. This is his brother. He steels himself for the shaking, the cries, the fighting.

But it doesn’t come.

The second they grab him, each feeling their hands too large on his body, he goes still. The fight and noise never come. Athos wishes it would. But he is pliable in their arms. He remains silent and still as they carry him up the stairs, bumping and tripping in the darkness. The sun is nearly gone and each is secretly glad for the darkness because then they don’t have to look at him. For the first few days of his kidnapping, they’d not thought much of his disappearance. In the aftermath of Savoy, Aramis going AWOL for a few days wasn’t unusual. He always came back though. Three months later and they finally found him.

“Let’s get him out of here,” Porthos says. “Paris isn’t far.”

He was being held a couple hours outside of Paris. A couple hours from home and safety he’d been held in darkness and squalor for three long months.

Athos agrees with Porthos. “We’ll make camp halfway there. Grab my cloak. He’s as cold as ice.”

“I’ll take him up with me. We’ll wrap the cloaks around and see if I can share some body heat with him. You know how he says I’m his heater.”

Getting Aramis on the horse is only difficult because he doesn’t help. While Porthos sits in the saddle, leaving room for Aramis in front of him, Athos lifts Aramis up. Porthos grabs hold of him and together they get him settled. They wrap the cloaks around him, securing them so that the wind can’t find a way in. Porthos reaches an arm around his waist to secure him, grabbing the reins in the other hand. Once Athos is saddled up, they quickly move out.

The ride is silent and long with worry. Aramis is still. It disturbs Porthos. He thinks about what the man endured for the last few months. Starvation is clear. There were beatings, burnings, torture. The smell, the dried feces, and vomit were enough to say that he’d been kept there for a while, probably the entire time.

They stop after a few hours of steady riding. Athos helps him get Aramis down. They arrange him nearby, covering him with blankets and clothes to keep him warm as they get a fire going.

“We’ll see to him the best we can out here and when morning comes, we’ll take him back to Paris. The Captain won’t realize we’re gone until we’re back,” Athos says. He is sure that Treville won’t be angry at their disappearance. The man had already given them leeway in finding Aramis.

“If you have the fire going, I’m going to get some water to clean him up. Maybe he’ll feel better without all of this stuff dried on,” Porthos says. Athos nods and shifts so that he’s closer to Aramis. No one is going to take him away from them.

With the fire going, Athos starts heating some of the water Porthos brings back. He takes some herbs from the medical packs Aramis makes them carry after Savoy. Aramis packs them specifically and checks them repeatedly. They don’t stop him anymore, letting him finish his checks so he can see his fellow Musketeers off with peace of mind. The herbs Athos pulls out are Aramis’ favorite for settling their nerves. Aramis drinks it regularly at times and makes them some after nightmares or rough missions. Even if it does nothing for Aramis tonight, it’ll get something warm in him.

While the water is heating, Athos helps Porthos to strip Aramis. They gently wipe away the dried clumps and Aramis lets them. He doesn’t glance down or pull away or make a noise of discomfort. The cleaning reveals more marks. The bruising on his sides and hips is deep.

“Sitting on the horse must’ve been painful,” Porthos comments. “Do you think he even realizes where we are?”

“I doubt it yet. It’s going to take some time,” Athos says. “At least he’s not fighting us, Porthos. Let’s be glad for that because this would be much harder if he was fighting us.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t natural for him. He’s a squirmer, a talker.”

“He’ll come back to us. He did after Savoy.”

“A man can only take so much.” Porthos has seen it in the Court. Too many traumas and a person just couldn’t come back. They would shrivel in on themselves, forgetting the world around them as their loved ones tried to care for them until sickness or worse took them.

“We both know that he’s strong, Porthos. I’m not letting him give in.” Athos knows personally what it takes to break a man, but he also knows what it takes to live broken, to find enough meaning to live on. Aramis may be broken, but Athos knows that he can find a way to live on because Aramis is much stronger, better than him. He takes a brief break from helping Porthos to let the herbs steep in the now hot water.

When they’re done cleaning him, they put ointment on the bruises, dress the burns and cuts. Then they dress him in their spare clothes and wrap his feet in what’s left over in lieu of boots. It does nothing for the fleas and lice, which will take more cleaning than they can do here and will make him hairless again.

“Do you mind sitting with him again,” Athos asks Porthos.

“Nah. I’m already itchy with his fleas, so it doesn’t make sense for you to get infected as well. Let’s see if he’ll drink some of that tea so he can start to warm up.” Porthos picks up Aramis and situates him between his legs, wrapping his arms around the slight man. Athos puts a couple blankets around them and fills a mug with some of the tea. It’s too warm right away so he settles down next to Porthos and Aramis with the cup in hand.

Getting Aramis to drink the tea is when the tranquility ends. The moment Athos puts the cup to Aramis’ lips, he thrashes violently, trying to buck his way out of Porthos’ arms, which only tighten down more around him. Athos sets the cup of tea aside and assesses how he can help Porthos.

“Aramis, you need to calm down,” he says, pleading as he works to be heard over Porthos’ grunts from the effort of keeping Aramis in one place. “You’re going to hurt yourself. Please, Aramis.”

Aramis doesn’t seem to hear him. He doesn’t even look up at either of them. And the movements, though they know Aramis is weak, have a persistent strength that hasn’t let up. Without thinking, Athos reaches out to grab Aramis’ head in his hands and the man goes frighteningly still. He meets Aramis’ dead gaze for a second before dropping his hands. Aramis is limp and pliant again. Porthos readjusts his grip, loosening it as he repositions Aramis. The panic got some warmth into him and Porthos hopes that he can keep it.

“What’s wrong, Athos,” he asks after he realizes that Athos hasn’t moved or spoken for several moments.

“N… Nothing. Let’s just work on keeping him warm. We’ll trade off later so you can get some sleep. Okay?”

“Athos, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I said nothing was wrong. When dawn breaks, we’ll get back on the horses and get him into Paris.” Athos lays down nearby, his back facing Porthos and Aramis. Porthos knows the conversation is over. Whatever is bugging Athos, he’ll get out of the man later. Right now, things are fine. Aramis is settled and with them.

If Aramis sleeps during the night, Porthos can’t tell. His breathing never slows and his head doesn’t drop but he doesn’t fight Porthos or Athos when he takes over later. Morning seems to come late and before the sun even comes up, both Athos and Porthos are saddling up. Porthos again takes Aramis.

It’s when the first rays of light hit Porthos and Aramis that something unexpected happens. It starts with a tensing that Porthos picks up on because he’s got an arm tightly wrapped around Aramis. Then there’s a low keening and hacking that turns into violent retching. It brings up little more than pale yellow bile that Porthos wipes away with his bandana. When the retching stops, the keening doesn’t and neither does the tension ease. Then he starts shaking, starting at any movement Porthos makes.

“Do you want to stop,” Athos asks. They’d stopped when the hacking started, trying to figure out what was going on. He’s looked on rather helplessly.

“No, I don’t think it’s going to help. ‘Mis, you with us?” Porthos touches his shoulder, hoping to break the man from his mantra. Instead, Aramis flinches so severely that he nearly falls off the horse. Porthos reaches for him quickly and Athos puts out a steadying hand. There’s no sense in having the two of them fall off in the effort. Once they’re secure again and Porthos isn’t quite so startled, Athos asks again if he’d like to stop.

“No, we need to get him home. To safety,” Porthos says.

“You think the Garrison is going to help?”

“I don’t know, Athos. But I know that I want to get him home so we can start to get him better. There’s something not right. Seriously not right and we need to be home so we can start to figure it out.”

Athos hasn’t heard this level of urgency and worry in Porthos’ voice in a while. They’d been worried while Aramis was missing, but the drive to find him always seemed to override any concerns they had. Still, Athos can’t argue with Porthos’ worry or desire to get home. There’s something comforting in the thought of being back at the Garrison, a stray thought that there Aramis might come back to himself.

“Let’s go then. We’re not far away, so you’ll want to hold him tight. I don’t think we’re going to be able to avoid crowds.”

With Aramis still shaking and tense, they continue on, hoping to make it to the Garrison with little more trouble. When Porthos feels Aramis tense up, he tightens his grip which seems to silence Aramis and make him go still. It unsettles Porthos, but he keeps up the grip because it gets them through the streets with no difficulty other than being stopped occasionally by the number of people. Still, by the time they arrive in the Garrison, both Athos and Porthos are tense and Porthos feels a ball of worry in the pit of his stomach. Aramis has been too quiet and too still for his comfort. Something’s happened.

“You found him,” Treville calls out, rushing down the stairs from his office in a manner not quite becoming a man of his status. He’ll mention their leaving without permission later.

“Yeah but something’s not right, Captain,” Porthos says.

 “Before we get into that, let’s get him to the infirmary and see to his injuries,” Athos says.

“How bad,” Treville asks as he helps them to get Aramis down from the horse.

“Bruises, burns, cuts, lashes.”

“Sounds superficial.”

“He’s also been starved.”

“And worse yet, he isn’t talking,” Porthos says. He’s carrying Aramis now in his arms as they walk to the infirmary. They attract the attention of other Musketeers, but between Athos and Treville’s glares, they back off and get back to work. It won’t do any good to have prying eyes right now. They even shoo away the doctor even though Aramis trusts him, though he does give Aramis a quick cursory exam before consenting to leaving.

“Clean the wounds and bandage them, then try to get him to drink some broth. Something light and watery so it doesn’t upset his stomach and not much at first,” the doctor tells them as he’s leaving. He knows that he can’t do much for the young man so sticking around will be more of a bother, but he trusts that they’ll call for him if they need him.

Aramis simply lies on the bed where they place him, looking awkward and uncomfortable. He doesn’t look at them and doesn’t even seem to be looking at the ceiling. Aramis doesn’t seem to be there with them in anything more than body.

“What happened,” Treville asks.

“We don’t know,” Athos says as he and Porthos start to strip Aramis of his borrowed clothing. They want to give him a proper bath and bandage him up.

“We found him in a cellar, no bigger than this bed really. It was dark and smelly. He’d gone on himself and laid in it and thrown up,” Porthos says.

“The doors were covered with rocks and a big lock. It was clear that he’d been visited but how often, we don’t know.”

“Has he said anything,” Treville asks.

“He made some pained noises this morning when we were heading back,” Porthos says. “But that’s it.”

“He’s calm, almost skittish I’d say, most of the time,” Athos says.

“Except for the tea.”

“Right, the tea. Last night we tried to get him to drink some tea to help calm him and he got really violent, thrashing around and didn’t stop until I grabbed hold of him.” Athos pauses momentarily at the memory. “I’ll start getting buckets of water for the tub,” he says quickly and leaves.

“Porthos,” Treville says, a clear question in his tone.

“Something about that tea situation bothered him. He was funny afterward.”

“Well, I think it’s clear that Aramis has been tortured. If the lashes and bruises aren’t evidence enough, then all of these behaviors are classic signs.” He’s seen it in a lot of men and knows how difficult it is to help them overcome that torture, especially as bad as Aramis seems to have gotten it. If they can’t get him through it, then Treville will be forced to take away his commission.

Once Porthos starts helping Athos bring in buckets of warm water, they quickly fill the tub. Getting Aramis in the tub is not as easy as they think because the moment his heels touch the water, he starts fighting them again, making the low keening noises that Athos and Porthos have become accustomed to. Despite his obviously weakened body, he bucks hard enough that they lose their grip, causing him to tumble to the floor, where he scurries to the wall. Before they can grasp him, he moves along the wall, back always touching until hitting a corner, stopping there to crouch away from them.

Porthos curses and roughly grabs Aramis’ arms, pulling them away from his face. In his own exhaustion and frustration, he doesn’t see Aramis going still and pliable again.

“We’re trying to help you, ‘Mis,” he says. “That’s it. We’re just trying to help you.”

“Porthos,” Athos says, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I think we’re good now. He’s calmed down.”

“You sure? He was before and then he went berserk.”

“Yeah, he’s fine now,” Treville says quietly, still observing the situation. “He’ll do what we want without complaint.”

“What’s wrong?” Porthos looks at the two of them, then back to Aramis. It takes a short moment for him to make the connections and he knows that if he hadn’t been so focused and worked up, he would’ve seen it sooner. He curses again.

“Let’s just get the bath done and take care of the visible wounds,” Athos says quietly. “Then we’ll see to everything else. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Porthos sighs heavily.

The bathing goes easily after that but it’s unsettling to have Aramis so compliant and willing. Normally, he talks up a storm in the bath, happily showing off his physique or, if wounded, grimacing and playing down the severity of any wounds they find. This isn’t right and none of them are quite sure how to fix it. Torture and imprisonment are familiar to them all but not to this extent. There’s a level of conditioning that they have to break once they can figure out the triggers. And who knows if that’s where it ends. With Aramis not talking, they have little idea of the extent of his torture.

Once he’s clean, they tend to the wounds that are still healing, the lashes and the cuts. Porthos finds the salve for bruises and they work it into the deep bruises that mar Aramis’ body. Even when they touch that parts of the bruise on his hip that must hurt the worst, Aramis doesn’t move or make a noise. The surface wounds taken care of and the first of the lice and flea treatments done, including shaving his head, they dress him in comfortable and familiar clothes.

“We should take him upstairs,” Porthos says. “He knows his room. He might be more comfortable there.”

“True,” Athos says. “It’s a smaller room, too. We’ll be able to heat it better.” They can already see him starting to shiver even under the layers they’ve dressed him in and the warmed blankets they’ve put over him.

“He needs to get some food in him,” Treville adds. “Watered down broth to start off with.”

“It wasn’t easy trying to get him to drink tea,” Porthos says. “He fought so badly we didn’t even bother trying anymore.”

“He’s got to eat something, Porthos.”

“I agree. I’m just saying, it’s not going to be easy.”

“Let’s just get him up to his room,” Athos says. “Then, any scene he makes will be up there instead of here for everyone to walk in on or hear. He doesn’t need an audience to his recovery.”

“Alright, then. Come on, ‘Mis. Let’s get upstairs.” Porthos tries to put as much enthusiasm and optimism into his voice but Aramis doesn’t respond.

“Come on, Aramis. You ready to walk around a little,” Athos asks. Still, no response.

“Why don’t you two just guide him up there. Perhaps once he gets moving, he’ll remember walking,” Treville says. “I’ll bring up some broth for him and some food and drink for the two of you. I think it goes without saying, but you’re on Aramis duty for the time being.”

Porthos and Athos pull Aramis to his feet, talking to him gently. He walks where they direct him, an unsettling setup but it works. Once outside, they see him tense slightly in between them and stop but when their hands nudge him forward, he eases up and goes back to walking. He trips once on the steps but quickly corrects himself.

In his room, Porthos guides him over to the bed, having him sit on it, while Athos gets the fire going. Soon after, Treville comes up with food for all of them.

“Let’s try getting him to drink this broth. Serge made sure to water it down heavily so it shouldn’t upset his stomach.” Treville ladles out some of the broth from the pot into a cup he knows Aramis likes to use. The rest of the broth will go on the fire later to keep it warmed.

“How should we go about this?” Porthos looks to Athos.

“Let’s see if he’ll drink it without fighting us. He might given how easy going he’s been this morning,” Athos says.

“Hey, ‘Mis. We have some watered-down broth for you,” Porthos says. “We just want you to drink a little of it.” The three of the slowly approach the bed, but Aramis doesn’t make a movement.

“Come on, Aramis,” Athos says, sitting next to the man. “You’ve got to be thirsty at least.” He takes the cup from Treville and holds it up to Aramis’ mouth so he can get a drink but the moment it touches his lips, Aramis begins fighting them again and the cup is knocked out of Athos’ hands.

“This is just what he did last night,” Porthos says. He’s grabbed Aramis before the man could find a corner and is holding him in his lap on the bed, though it’s not needed anymore as he’s stopped fighting, going still and almost limp.

“Well, he’s got to drink something,” Treville says as he picks up the cup and refills it. When he turns back, he sighs as he contemplates what action to take. It’s clearly been a while since Aramis has gotten anything substantial and Treville is beginning to suspect that food might’ve been related to his torture somehow. He’s seen it before and it’s going to take time to sort out and then figure out how to get Aramis through it. For now, though, they’d have to be a little more forceful because Aramis needed something and it might help to clear his mind a little.

“Athos, I’ll hold him here. Can you hold his head still? I think I know what the Captain has planned. Right, Captain?”

“It’s not ideal, but it has to be done.”

Athos nods, face grim as he moves closer to make sure he has a firm grip on Aramis’ head. Once he sees that the two men have a good grip on Aramis, Treville steps forward.

“I’m sorry about this, Aramis,” he says. “But you need to get something in you. Now, open your mouth.” When Aramis doesn’t, Treville forces him lightly and tips the cup to his lips, allowing just enough of the broth to go in that it won’t choke Aramis. Treville takes the cup away and closes Aramis’ mouth, rubbing his throat slightly until he swallows. The whole process is far less painless that he thought and they manage to get Aramis to drink half of the cup before Treville decides to call it quits for now. Seeing Aramis give into their forced feeding so easily is hard. He doesn’t want to have to resort to this every time until they can get him through this.

“You two can let him go now. Let’s just let him rest,” Treville says. Porthos and Athos let him go and lay him down on the bed, covering him with the blankets there and the ones they’d brought up.

“That was just a little too easy,” Porthos says once they have Aramis tucked in. The three have moved to the other side of the room even though Aramis doesn’t seem to acknowledge even hearing them.

“It’s likely that food was part of the torture,” Treville says with a sigh, feeling the weight of sorting through Aramis’ torture and its effects.

“I’d say that was a given, but we can’t keep forcing him to eat like that,” Athos says. “We’re no better than his torturers if we do that.”

“Of course, but how else are we going to get food into him,” Porthos counters.

“For now, it works,” Treville says, cutting off any further arguing. He’s not in the mood for dissension between the two of them. “In the meantime, we need to figure out what happened to him.”

“We need to get him talking then.”

“Communicating with us in some way, even if that’s hand gestures or drawing. I don’t care.”

“Easier said than done when he doesn’t seem to recognize our presence,” Athos says. “Not until we try to do something to him.”

“We’re just going to have to try several different methods. We need to see if he can communicate with us,” Treville says.

“If?” Porthos’ voice turns serious as he fixes Treville with a questioning look. “You don’t think he’s coming back from this.”

“I want him to come back, Porthos. Believe me. But we have to face the reality that he was held captive for three months during which he was tortured and very likely conditioned to certain behaviors. He might be too far gone for us to help.” Treville forces himself to keep himself together as he speaks. Losing Aramis would be devastating. Aramis is one of the few remaining original members and, though Treville won’t admit it to others, the young man’s become like a son to him.

“It is something we have to consider, Porthos,” Athos says.

“No. I’m not giving up on him.” Porthos rises to his full height in anger, his voice growing as well.

“We’re not giving up, Porthos. If the worst comes, then I’ll take him somewhere where I can look after him and he can be in peace.”

“We, Athos. Both of us’ll go. It’s all for one, after all.”

“Before it comes to that, we need to work with him here,” Treville says. He won’t be pleased to lose three good men, but he wouldn’t force Porthos or Athos to stay here and leave Aramis to an asylum. “Talk with him, work on getting him to communicate. The sooner we learn what’s happened, the sooner was can work with him to get him over this.”

“We’re going to have to work to find his triggers, too,” Porthos says. “Anything that might set him off. Like touching.”

“And sunlight. He seemed to be upset by the sun this morning and then when we went outside to bring him up here,” Athos says.

“It probably hurts his eyes. He was in the dark for that entire time, I’d guess.” They quickly go around, shuttering the couple windows. It doesn’t remove all of the light, but it does sink the room largely into darkness.

“I have to go attend a meeting with the King. He’ll be pleased to know that one of his Musketeers is back.” Treville doesn’t plan on telling the King about Aramis’ condition other than that he sustained severe injuries. “I’ll come to check on you three when I’m back. While I’m gone, make sure that you two eat something, even if you don’t feel like it.”

Athos and Porthos manage to eat a little while Treville is gone. Their worries for Aramis have their stomachs unsettled and food unappealing. And it doesn’t help that soon after Treville leaves and Aramis falls asleep, the nightmares come. That he would have nightmares is no surprise to them. In fact, they’re quite used to his nightmares, unfortunately, due to Savoy, but the silence of these is most disturbing. Though Aramis’ mouth is open as if screaming, no sound comes forth. His movements are jerky, seizure-like but there’s clear distress and Athos and Porthos are clueless as to how to help. They worry over touching him for fear of the reaction it might provoke. It’s clear to both of them that touch was a part of the torture and doesn’t bring any positive reactions. They settle for sitting on the floor with their backs against the bed, hoping that their presence might bring some level of comfort to Aramis. It doesn’t work as they hoped, but neither is willing to leave, hoping that persistence will win out.

“So, we’ve got touch as a problem and we know that his sight is messed up from being down in that cellar for three months,” Porthos says. “What else are you thinking? Hearing? Speech?”

“Hearing is most definitely an issue, though it is possible that he’s been conditioned not to respond to any noises,” Athos says. “And while this silent yelling is odd for him, it’s not out of the norm for nightmares. He might just not want to speak. He probably hasn’t for weeks.”

“I think it’s more that he can’t hear. Conditioning isn’t that perfect. He’d tense at the very least with some of the noises he’s heard today.”

“Probably,” Athos concedes. “The trouble is, to confirm anything, we need him talking to us or communicating at the very least.”

“And he just sees us as torturers instead of his friends.” There are a few minutes of silence between them before Porthos speaks again. “Maybe once his sight returns. Maybe we just need to get him through today and the next couple until his vision comes back and he sees us not his torturers.”

“A few days of us making him think he’s still in that cellar?” Athos keeps his eyes drawn down to the floor beneath him.

“Maybe sooner. I don’t know.” Porthos shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe it’s optimism to think it’ll work, but him seeing us for who we are has to help in some way.”

“Agreed.” Athos sighs heavily.

“What’s with this pessimism, Athos? We both know that he’s strong. He came back from Savoy.”

“Yes, but from all accounts, he was different after. We really only knew the Aramis after. And to come back from a second traumatic event in little more than a year? We might be pushing our luck, his luck, on this one.”

“So, you’re giving up on him?”

“No, not at all. I’m just trying to prepare myself for a possible outcome.”

“You mean the one you think’s going to happen.”

“I never said that,” Athos says.

“No, but you certainly indicated that it’s what you’re expecting. We don’t know how much of this might just be he just got out of three months of captivity. That messes with a mind. In a few days, he might start coming around more.”

“Porthos,” Athos begins, giving Porthos a serious look, “I am hopeful that he does, but I am prepared that we might not get him back. That does not mean that I’ve given up on him. Please don’t mistake my realism for defeat. Whatever happens, even if we never get him back to the Aramis we know, I’m going to be here for him.”

“Okay. Good.” Porthos nods, feeling relieved to hear Athos’ convictions vocalized. Then, after a moment, he asks, “So, what you told Treville about taking Aramis away from here?”

“You both know that I come from the noble ranks. Though I’ve renounced much of the possessions, I still have enough to ensure that, should we need it, Aramis will never spend a day in an asylum. That is if you are willing to spend the rest of your days with me and Aramis.”

“I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else. But it’s not going to come to that.”

“I hope not.”

“Still, it is reassuring to know that, should it happen, we can take care of him.”

“My wealth and status should serve some useful purpose.”

The next few days are difficult for them with Aramis still largely unaware of his surroundings. They’re still forced to make him drink the watered-down broth. Once, when they try a stronger broth, he quickly throws it back up, shaking and curling in on himself in a corner afterward. It takes a single touch from one of them to return him to a state of calmness and allow them to clean him up and get him in dry clothes.

Over the next few days, they settle into a routine, alternating between the two of them. Treville comes in often when he can spare the time and sometimes they’re certain when he can’t, to help. As they begin to feel physically and emotionally drained, they’re careful to keep their frustrations and anger to themselves or until they’re outside. Even though they’re sure Aramis can’t hear them, they keep up a steady conversation with him.

The fourth day, when Aramis is lying on the bed, Porthos sees something he hasn’t in a while: Aramis looking at him. Porthos nudges Athos quietly, gently, and draws his attention to the bed without speaking. Athos nods, feeling some measure of optimism for the first time since they rescued Aramis. Aramis seems to see them looking and quickly averts his eyes and tenses. It’s not clear if he recognized them. Porthos doesn’t expect his vision to be perfect after so long in the dark, but it’s a start.

For the rest of the day, they both can’t help but sneak peeks at Aramis, hoping to catch sight of him looking at them. It doesn’t happen, but he isn’t just laying there each time. Sometimes they see him gazing around the room, which they’ve kept darkened in hopes of making it easier on his eyes.

They don’t notice much of a change until one morning when they’re getting going and, as they approach Aramis to wake him, they find that he’s already awake. When he catches sight of them, a look of terror overcomes his face and he pushes himself off the bed and into a corner, keeping his eyes fixed on them and mouthing “no” repeatedly.

“Any idea what set this off,” Athos asks.

“I was going to ask you,” Porthos says. He takes a few steps forward, which only serve to make Aramis push himself further into the corner, pulling his legs in with his arms.

“Let’s just get breakfast and see if he calms.”

Porthos nods, going to the door to get food from the mess. When he comes back, he sees Athos looking at Aramis with a curious look. The young man’s face is still one of terror and he continues to mouth “no.”

“What’s going on,” Porthos asks, setting the food on the table.

“Look at Aramis and walk over here,” Athos says. Though puzzled, Porthos does as Athos says. It takes a few seconds for him to see what’s caught Athos’ attention: Aramis is tracking them. He’s actually watching as they move around. In the past days, he’d watched them but once they moved, his gaze would often stay where they had been.

“Let’s see,” Porthos trails off as he goes to the desk to find some paper, writing something briefly on it.

“You think he’s going to be able to understand that,” Athos asks.

“It’s worth a try and maybe it’ll get him to calm down.” Porthos takes the note back over to Aramis, kneeling down slowly a few feet in front of him. Aramis tries to dig deeper into the corner, averting his gaze and covering his head partly with his arms. “Hey, ‘Mis. It’s just us. Just Porthos and Athos, your friends, your brothers.” He’s sure to keep his voice gentle even though he’s doubtful that Aramis can hear. When there’s no meaningful response, Porthos sets the note in a small gap between Aramis’ legs and arms, hoping to grab his attention.

It startles Aramis and he pushes away from the wall without seeing the note. He stumbles into Treville when the man comes in to check on them. The burst of sunlight combined with the prolonged panic, makes Aramis curl up against the wall, letting out a low keening.

“What’s going on?” Treville looks between the three of them once he’s regained his balance.

“Let’s get him back to bed and then we’ll explain,” Athos says.

“He needs to eat.”

“He’s not up to it right now. We’ve not had a good morning,” Porthos says. Treville nods, frustrated by the lack of explanation. Aramis gives into them easily as they move him from the floor to the bed. Once he’s settled, curled up and still making keening noises, but settled all the same, Treville turns to Athos and Porthos for an explanation.

“He can see,” Porthos blurts out.

“He can see? You’re sure about this?”

“He was following us, Captain,” Athos says. “When we moved, his eyes followed us.”

“So what’s with this panic?”

“He doesn’t seem to recognize us. Every time we come close, he pulls back more and grows more frightened.”

“Just before you came in, I’d written him a note, hoping he’d read it and see it was us. Get him to calm down a little,” Porthos says.

“Well, that’s progress. He should still be in this darkened room for longer, though,” Treville says. He’s happy about the news, but emotions aren’t going to help anyone right now, most of all, Aramis.

“It’s more than progress, Captain. This is good news. He can see.” Porthos’ enthusiasm is clear.

“I agree, but none of this is helping him right now. He’s still fairly disconnected from us. Aramis may be able to see right now but until we get him calm enough to be more cooperative, then we haven’t made a whole lot of progress.”

“Getting him to eat is going to be even more difficult now,” Athos says.

“I hadn’t thought.” Porthos’ voice trails off.

“I know. This is progress, but we still have a long way to go,” Treville says.

“So, what’s the next step? How are we going to get him to calm down around us?”

“Maybe we try to prove to him that we’re not here to hurt him. Let’s just forget convincing him of who we are and focus on getting him to see that we’re helping,” Athos says.

“So definitely not forcing him to eat,” Porthos says.

“No. Let’s get him to sit up and eat on his own.”

“He can’t hold the cup.”

“We won’t fill it as full and stay nearby,” Treville says. “And we should all have some of it.”

“That way he knows it’s safe,” Porthos says. “We should probably wait though until he calms down more.”

“I’ll come back in a few hours, around lunch time.”

When Treville returns at lunch to help with Aramis, he finds the young man calmer, though he’s still curled up slightly and facing the wall. So as to not upset Aramis, Athos and Porthos leave it to Treville to get him sitting, though the moment he sets sights on the others, the look of terror is back. Treville is quick to back off once he’s sure that Aramis is stable in leaning against the wall. Athos and Porthos already have the pot of broth pulled out. Once they have Aramis’ attention, they ladle out some of the broth into four cups. They each take one and Treville brings the fourth to Aramis, sitting next to him on the bed.

Aramis doesn’t take the offered cup but Treville didn’t expect it and so sets his aside to take both of Aramis’ hands and put them around the cup. It nearly slides out a couple times as Aramis has difficulty forming a solid grip with his mangled fingers, but he does manage it. The fingers, four of which are healed at awkward angles, aren’t unusable and the doctor thinks he can set them straighter once Aramis is more recovered. Treville picks his own up with a hand while keeping a hand close to catch Aramis’ cup. The three slowly move their cups to their mouths, hoping Aramis will understand what they want him to do. It takes several attempts and they each have to work to suppress the grimace at the flavor of the broth. It’s not Serge’s cooking but that it’s watered-down still.

When Aramis does finally take a sip, it’s brief and clumsy with Treville’s hand doing much of the guiding as Aramis’ begin shaking from the strain. A lot of the broth lands on Aramis’ shirt and his eyes never leave the three of them nor does the frightened look but he does drink some of the broth on his own. He could drink more but this much seems enough to force on him for now.

“We’ll try again in a few hours,” Treville says as he helps Aramis out of the dirty shirt and into a dry one.

The days seem to move in fits and starts at that point. Some days they can get Aramis to drink the broth, which is less and less watered-down, with a little prodding and other days he cowers from them all in fear and panic. They still drink some of the broth to show him that it’s safe to drink and he continues to watch them closely.

The day, a few weeks later, when he moves to something more substantial: a gruel that Serge cooks up just for Aramis that can be kept warm over the fire all day and into the night. By this point, eating is less of a struggle about if he will than it is about how much. Aramis has yet to gain any significant weight; in fact, they realize that he’s lost in the weeks it’s taken him to graduate from broth to gruel.

Rather than eating with the spoon, which proves to frighten him and they know will be difficult for him with his bent fingers, Aramis resorts to eating with his fingers, sticking a finger in the warm mush and sticking it in his mouth. It’s messy and completely un-Aramis-like but he eats and so they simply clean him up afterward. It’s far from their usual routine with him but it’s better than before and he’s starting to put on some weight, which is a relief to the three of them.

As the days go on, turning into another few weeks, Aramis heals physically, save for the bent fingers, but mentally, it’s clear that he’s still scarred. His dreams are just as bad and silent in his screaming. Their kindness to him does little to make him trust them more. He still shakes and cowers from them when Athos and Porthos are in sight or near him, but he doesn’t fight when they have to clean him up or change his clothes.

Nearly two months later, Aramis is functioning minimally, and they’re feeling the strain of being cooped up with him for that time. They’ve had time away, doing the occasional guard shift at the palace to pacify the King and Richelieu but the majority of the last couple months have been spent with Aramis in his room. Between this and the warming weather that taunts them, Porthos and Athos are feeling the pull of the bright sun and warm gentle breeze.

“Maybe we should try to take him outside,” Porthos says, idly flipping through a deck of cards. They’ve played so many games he’s tired of playing for once.

“And you really think he’d be able to cope with being out there?” Athos’ voice is dry and irritated. He’s sitting in a chair at the table, leaning back as he balances the chair on a couple legs.

“It might not hurt him as much as we think. Besides, he always liked warm days like these. Let’s just give it a shot and see what he does.”

Athos is silent for a moment as he thinks. It’s not that he doesn’t want to take Aramis out but they’ve had a good morning, which is a relief after a rough few days where everything seemed to set Aramis off and he simply refused to eat. Still, they have to keep making progress. Treville’s already talked with them about the King and Richelieu pushing to strip Aramis of his commission and send him to an asylum.

“Slowly and if he seems too agitated, we have to stop,” Athos says finally.

“Of course. Hey, ‘Mis,” Porthos calls out to the younger man despite the fact that Aramis can’t hear them. There’s still some hope that his hearing might return, but it’s fading as the weeks go by. Aramis is sitting on his bed, staring into nothing, it seems. He jumps when Porthos approaches, but it doesn’t deter him. Porthos and Athos have become accustomed to the poor reaction and simply go ahead with what they need to do, though they do keep their physical interactions with him limited to the necessities.

“Let’s go outside for a bit. It’s nice and sunny out there, just like you like it,” Porthos says. He gestures to Aramis to get up. Aramis is up on his feet quickly but cowers away from them. Porthos reaches out to grab Aramis’ wrist, pulling him forward gently but being sure to keep a good distance between them. Aramis goes still, following obediently though he does pause at the door. Athos gently nudges him along from beside.

Once he’s outside, they slowly walk him over to the balcony where they stand on either side to keep him there.  They don’t fear him bolting and they know that their presence makes him frightened, but they hope that deep down he might find some comfort in their steady presence. At first, he seems to be calming down and they relax beside him. Porthos lets go of his hold on Aramis’ wrist.

It might’ve been this peacefulness or the sparring down in the courtyard that draws their attention away so that they don’t see the signs until Aramis is tumbling down the steps and running out of the Garrison. They’re surprised by the speed of which Aramis picks himself back up after the tumble and they’re only halfway down the stairs. He limps out of the Garrison, knocking into Treville as he’s coming back in.


	2. Chapter 2

“We’ve got to go find him, Captain,” Athos says before Treville has a chance to ask what’s going on. They’re just on their way out to follow Aramis when they stop to give him a brief explanation. Porthos stands further out of the gate trying to catch sight of Aramis.

“Who,” Treville ask, irritation clear. All he’s seen is a figure run past him, knocking roughly into his back.

“Aramis,” Porthos says. Treville curses loudly.

“Okay. You two go. I’ll send out some men to look as well.”

With that, Porthos and Athos take off in the direction they saw him run in. Their delay with Treville means that they’ve lost sight of him and quickly turn to asking people on the street if they saw him. Some give helpful comments, pointing them in the direction of where a panicked, scraggily Aramis ran in. Still, it takes them time to track him down as they have to move through busy roads and check down alleys. It’s a long, disappointing search as each place turns up no Aramis.

“Come on, you idiot,” someone says, voice loud and clearly irritated. “No, don’t go farther back. Come here!” Athos and Porthos pay the voice little attention until they hear a clattering. Although they want to keep up their search, they know they also have a duty to investigate and ensure the safety of Paris’ citizens. So, they turn in the direction of the noise. They follow it through a few streets, to a building where the cellar doors are open. Another loud clatter sends them down into the cellar, where they see the contents of some crates and odd items strewn about. In the corner, on the floor, they see a pair of dirty, bleeding feet. Standing over the person is a tall, gruff man yelling still and preparing to hit them.

“Stop this at once,” Athos says.

“What are you doing here,” Porthos asks.

“Everything’s fine here,” the man says in a dismissive tone.

“It sure doesn’t look like it.” Porthos steps forward, ready to question the man more about his actions when he sees just who it is. “Aramis!” Their silent friend is lying in a heap on some broken barrels of wine, clothes soaked and dirty. He’s bloody and bruised from the beating, steadfastly looking away from them as his body shakes with tremors. Porthos shoves the angry man aside and moves to Aramis, sliding to his knees quickly, ignoring Aramis’ jump. Athos is soon next to Porthos on his knees as well.

“It looks more like shock than anything serious,” Athos says after a quick visual exam.

“The idiot burst into here, getting into my supplies and breaking my stock,” the man says, voice short.

“He’s a soldier, who was injured and recovering,” Porthos says, turning to give the man an angry look. “He doesn’t know what he was doing.”

“He certainly looked like he knew what he was doing when he came in here and broke my stuff to get to this corner. I demand compensation and that you get him out of here.”

“We’ll be in touch.”

“No, now. Before you leave. I know you soldier types. You three leave and I’ll never get my money. Pay or I’ll call the Red Guard.”

“How much,” Athos says, standing as he cuts off a comment from Porthos. Normal Musketeers don’t have enough to cover the damages, but Athos does and while he’s not thrilled to give it to this angry, unforgiving man, he’s glad to use it to help out his brothers. He leaves Porthos to get Aramis sorted and ready while he pays this man, giving him extra to assure his silence on the matter. There’s already enough of a push from the Palace, mainly Richelieu, to have Aramis stripped of his commission. They don’t need one more incident and voice adding to the calls.

Athos thinks that they might have to carry Aramis, but Porthos has him ready to walk when Athos is done with the merchant. He’s unsteady and dazed but he does walk with their assistance. And to their surprise, he doesn’t tense up or pull away from them.

By the time they get back to the Garrison, he’s leaning heavily on them and Treville is waiting. They’d sent word ahead when it was clear the walk back was going to take a while. Treville helps them to get him cleaned up, changed, and settled in bed to rest before he calls them out to the balcony to talk.

“Well, it’s clear that he’s mostly okay, but what were you two thinking in bringing him outside,” Treville asks.

“That it would be nice to get out,” Porthos says. After a sigh, he adds, “We were careful. We took it slow and kept him between us. I don’t know what set him off.”

“Well, whatever it was, it’s the end for him. At least according to the King, it is.” Treville sighs, leaning against the railing.

“Richelieu’s had his way,” Athos says.

“The Red Guard saw him and reported back. Richelieu’s convinced the King that Aramis has to be stripped of his commission.”

“He can’t do that,” Porthos says. “Aramis is getting better. He’s recovering.”

“In the two months that he’s been back, how much of that has been spent on his own? We have to face it that he needs more help than we can give him here.”

“Then we resign as well, right Athos?”

“Yes,” Athos says without hesitation. “Give me a few days to get things arranged and we’ll be out of here.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Treville says. “I’m not accepting any commissions or resignations at this point. You two have a week to show me that there’s some progress being made with him. The Queen has a soft spot for you Musketeers, especially for Aramis, it seems, and is willing to petition the King for him.” She’d approached him as he left the Palace after his meeting with the King and Richelieu.

“A week?”

“It’s the best I can do. I know it’ll take longer than that for real recovery but if you can show that he will get back to a state where he can be on duty, then we can talk to the King and, perhaps, convince him to reverse his decision. It’s not been formalized yet, anyway.”

“What do you think, Porthos?” Athos looks at Porthos.

“It’s not going to be easy, but we have to try.”

“Agreed.”

“And we’re going to have to get him to talk.”

“That’s going to take some work, but I think you’re right,” Athos says with a sigh.

Despite being under the gun to prove Aramis’ recovery, Athos and Porthos opt to wait when they leave Treville and go back into Aramis’ room. While they want to remain Musketeers and believe in Aramis’ recovery, they won’t push him into it. If it means retirement to the country to live off of Athos’ wealth and the land, then that is what their life will be. Aramis, their brotherhood, comes first.

So, they go about their usual routine. They get Aramis to eat, talk to him even though he doesn’t talk or appear to hear them, and sit with him when he opts to just sit there. His new cuts and bruises begin to heal as the days pass and he remains just as obedient as before, but he doesn’t try to run off again. Athos begins to make the plans as it becomes clear that nothing is going to change about Aramis’ current state.

“Are you sure about wanting to leave tomorrow,” Porthos asks. He and Athos are sitting at the table while Aramis lays on the bed. He’s been having rougher nights with more nightmares leaving him lethargic and nauseous during the day. He refused his lunch and most of his breakfast on top of not eating more than a few bites all of yesterday. It’s the end of the week Treville’s given them to show some progress with Aramis and it seems that such progress won’t be coming. Although Porthos and Athos are sad to resign their commissions, Aramis does come first.

“The place is set. The men I hired have sent word that the house is empty and ready. We’ll have a lot of cleaning to do, but it’s safe. And the sooner we get out there, the sooner I can pay those men and send them away. I think we could all do with some privacy while Aramis gets adjusted to his new surroundings,” Athos says.

“Sounds good.” They lapse into silence for several moments.

“It’ll take us several days to get there, I expect. We’ll have to see how Aramis does,” Athos says.

“We can trade off taking him with us.” Porthos knows that Aramis isn’t ready to be on a horse on his own. Still weak and prone to jumpiness, he’s likely to cause himself harm by being on a horse alone. “I’ll go out later to get provisions for us.”

“Captain’s taken care of it. Serge will pack us enough food for a week.”

“I’m going to miss his cooking,” Porthos says after a pause.

Athos nods his agreement, leaning back in his chair. He’s not the sentimental type, at least he tries not to be. That’s only gotten him into trouble. But he will admit that he’s going to miss the Garrison and his fellow Musketeers. Despite what Porthos thought of Athos’s stance on Aramis’ recovery, he did believe that the man could recover in time. He still does. Aramis came back from Savoy, surely he could come back from being held captive for three months.

“Why?” They startle at the voice which is quiet and scratchy from disuse but familiar still. It’s been nearly half a year since they’ve heard it and definitely didn’t expect it now. Athos sets the chair back down and Porthos stops fiddling with his cards, both turning to look at Aramis, who for the first time in a while is looking at them with real emotion in his eyes.

“Why what, ‘Mis,” Porthos asks.

“Wh…why did you d…d…do it?” Aramis seems to ignore the pain of the scratchy throat. And they, for the moment, ignore his return of hearing.

“Do what?” Athos hands Aramis a cup of wine to help with the scratchiness. Aramis takes the cup but doesn’t drink from it.

“St… stop that man from hitting me?” Aramis flinches.

“You mean back in the cellar last week,” Porthos asks.

Aramis nods his head.

“Because he shouldn’t have been hitting you.”

“But I… I did something wrong. I broke s… some of his barrels of wine. H… he had a right to hit me.”

“That doesn’t give him permission to hit you,” Porthos says.

“Yes, it does. Th… that’s the rules.”

“No, it’s not. People don’t get to hit others when they do something wrong.”

“Yes, th… they do.”

“So, Aramis,” Athos begins. “If I drop my plate of food or show up late for morning roll call, should I be hit as well?”

“No. I g… get hit then.”

“Why you?”

“I d… deserve to be punished,” Aramis says, flinching.

“You don’t get punished for what others do, ‘Mis,” Porthos says clearly exasperated.

“Yes, I do. I h… have to be. It’s why I’m here. M… master says.”

Porthos doesn’t know what to say to that. When he looks at Athos he sees a similar angry look. It’s clear that they’re breaking through to some of the conditioning, at least the understanding of why. It’s still not clear to him what actions and punishments were doled out aside from being punished for others’ wrongs. Was he a whipping boy for just one person or for several? Why have Aramis for just that purpose? Was there more to it that they weren’t connecting?

“You’re not here to be punished,” Porthos says, forcing himself to keep his voice even. “We’re trying to help you. There’s no more punishing, ‘Mis. We’re your friends, don’t you remember?”

At that, Aramis shakes his head and starts muttering, “No,” repeatedly.

“Aramis,” Athos says, voice loud as he grabs Aramis gently by the upper arms. It’s enough to shock the younger man into silence and stillness.

“Athos,” Porthos chides.

“We need to talk with him, Porthos. We’re close to finding out what’s been going on.”

“Still…”

“Why don’t you think that we’re your friends,” Athos asks, ignoring Porthos. He does take a few steps back from the bed to give Aramis space.

“D… dead,” Aramis says with a flinch.

“Us? We’re dead?”

Aramis nods.

“We’re alive, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. “Very much alive. Can’t you feel us when we’ve been helping you?”

He shakes his head this time. “H… here to h… haunt me. Killed you.”

“We’re alive, ‘Mis,” Porthos says, emphasizing his words this time. “You didn’t do anything to us other than make us think you were dead.”

“N…no. Dead. Killed.”

“Aramis, can a ghost bleed,” Athos asks.

“No.” Aramis shakes his head.

“Alright then.” Athos pulls out his knife and runs it lightly across his forearm, just enough that it draws blood. He makes sure that Aramis is watching it all. “See, ‘Mis. I’m bleeding here. And ghosts don’t bleed, right?”

Aramis shakes his head, jaw slightly ajar as he looks at the bleeding cut on Athos’ forearm. Without hesitation, Porthos does the same to himself, calling Aramis’ awed gaze over to look. For a few moments more, there’s silence as Aramis goes back and forth in looking at their bleeding forearms. Then his breathing starts picking up and he starts muttering “no” again. His thin arms wrap around his bent legs as he starts rocking. As the seconds pass, the frenziness of everything picks up until Aramis’ breathing is audible and it’s clear that he’s starting to hyperventilate.

“Come on, ‘Mis. You need to calm down,” Porthos says. He hesitates in moving forward to try to stop his movements, thinking it would likely set Aramis off more. It’s when Aramis starts coughing, hacking, and then vomiting, which quickly becomes dry heaves, that they throw caution to the wind and step in to help calm him. They’ve spent almost three months watching their brother struggle to recover, or so they thought. All this time, he’d thought they weren’t real and was merely waiting for punishment. If only they had known.

So, they hold Aramis as he dry heaves, rub his back as he shakes, and gently urge him to slow his breathing as he continues to hyperventilate. Their touching, presence makes him worse they know. They feel his heartbeat quicken more and the retching grow rougher.

When he goes slack, they’re caught off guard. His breathing and heartbeat are still fast, but the retching has stopped and his eyes are closed. Still, they hold on to him. They feel his breathing and heart slow to normal paces. Still, they hold on to him. The room stays quiet as they sit in their awkward positions on the bed, positions taken in a frantic desire to help Aramis with little thought given to their comfortability, and Aramis is slouched on them. His head lies in Porthos’ lap and his feet limp and partly on Athos’ legs.

They are still like that when it starts growing dark and Treville comes with their dinner.

“Something happen,” he asks quietly.

“We had a bit of a breakthrough,” Porthos says.

“A breakthrough?” Treville tries to stop himself from getting too hopeful.

“He spoke and asked why we’d stopped that man from hitting him last week.”

“As we’ve understood, when he was being held captive, he was a whipping boy,” Athos says. “It’s not clear yet why or for who, but he expects to be hit when someone does something wrong or when he does.”

“And he’s thought we were ghosts come back to haunt him after he killed us,” Porthos says.

“That explains some of his behavior,” Treville says. “Especially his panic when he first saw the two of you, but I don’t understand how he thought he’d killed you.”

“Perhaps something his captor told him. If he was used as a whipping boy, then who knows what else he might’ve been told.”

“Good point. We still have more to find out, but this new information will help his recovery. And, I think I might be able to go to the Queen with this. Knowing that he was severely tortured and conditioned should help us to make our case with the King and Richelieu.”

“I’m thinking that we should still take him out of Paris to recover, Captain,” Athos says, voice serious.

“We don’t need to, Athos. We can work with him here and all keep our commissions,” Porthos says.

“I’m not suggesting resigning. I think different surroundings might help. The house we’re going to has a lot of land he can wander in and recover. You know how much Aramis likes being outside. We can easily spend our days outside there and never run into someone.”

“It does sound like it would be helpful. What do you think, Captain? Would we be able to keep our commissions and take him there?”

“I can petition the King for a few months leave for the three of you, but you’ll have to be ready to come back to duty after. Aramis on light duty, probably,” Treville says.

“We’ll still leave tomorrow. You’ll send word if everything goes to plan,” Athos asks.

“Yes, I’ll be sure to send word of what’s been agreed to. I don’t doubt that once the King understands the nature of the torture Aramis endured, he’ll grant the petition.”

With their plans settled, the three slowly eat while Aramis, to their surprise, sleeps. It seems that his attack earlier has worn him out and they opt to leave him. Even though he hasn’t eaten much in the last few days, dreamless rest seems more important at the moment.

The next day, with Aramis still unsure of them, they set off. He doesn’t question them anymore, in fact, he is back to not talking. He lets them tell him where to go and what to do. There’s little that they do ask him to do because his hands still shake and his fingers have yet to be reset.

The trip takes several days, longer than expected because Aramis has trouble riding as long as they’re accustomed to. He tries to push through it, to force himself not to slouch or flinch, but they pick up on his pain and discomfort quickly and end their travel for the day.

The house, as Athos always referred to it, is actually a house much to Porthos’ surprise. He’d expected Athos to be underselling it. But it’s a rather modest house. There’s a kitchen with a small table, main room, and a couple bedrooms. It’s dusty and the air is stale, but it’s livable. Athos pays the men watching the house while Porthos gets Aramis inside and brings their things in.

It takes a full week before Aramis is comfortable enough to leave the main room. They pull out some blankets from the bedrooms and wrangle a couple mattresses onto the floor to form a large bed for them. Still, Aramis spends his nights in a curled up ball on the couch with several blankets wrapped around him. How he sleeps like that without a neck ache, they don’t know. The second week he follows them into the kitchen and finally sleeps on the mattress once Athos and Porthos have fallen asleep.

He has more attacks where his breathing is fast as is his heartbeat and he starts vomiting. Sometimes he passes out from hyperventilating but Athos and Porthos always make sure that they’re around. They talk to him and hold him while he retches. Each time he seems puzzled by their presence when he wakes. They start giving him small choices. A choice of two options for a meal or clothes to wear for the day. An option to bathe in the morning or evening. Aramis stares at them dumbfounded by the choice until they simply pick something for him because they’ve already wasted a half hour.

“Maybe we were too optimistic, Athos,” Porthos says to Athos’ shock. He thought the man was an eternal optimist.

“It’s going to take more than a week to break three months of conditioning, Porthos.”

“He won’t even make the simplest of choices for himself. And that breakfast? It was between his least and most favorite foods. How could he not make a decision?”

“I don’t know, Porthos. It’s just going to take time.”

“We only have three months. Two and a half, now.” Porthos doesn’t hide his worry.

“No, we have all of the time he needs because if he’s not better after three months, we resign our commissions unless you are rethinking your decision to stay with us. I won’t begrudge you if you have. You’re not a man of rest. You’re used to being constantly active.”

“No, I’m not changing my mind. I… I just don’t want this to beat him. I don’t want it to be the reason he has to leave. He’s overcome Savoy. He should be able to do this.”

“That was different. He wasn’t tortured like this. It’s going to take time and will come when it does.”

“I hate your patience, you know.”

Later in the day, when they’re working on cooking dinner, they give Aramis a choice of beef stew or lentil soup.

“It’s a simple choice, ‘Mis,” Porthos says, working hard to hide his exasperation. He’s asked several times now. A few more minutes and he’ll just decide what to cook.

“Come on. You can make this one choice of what you want to eat.” Porthos’ voice rises unconsciously as he speaks. Aramis flinches back as he usually does when their voices are raised so Porthos gives up, turning to Athos to ask what he wants to make.

“The lentils,” Aramis says quietly.

“What?” Porthos turns back to him.

“I… I want the lentils tonight.”

“Lentils it is then. Thank you, Aramis.” Porthos can’t help the relieved smile that takes over even though Aramis rushes out of the kitchen right after he made that choice.

As the days pass, Aramis gets better at making choices. He’s less hesitant and when he doesn’t flinch or shy away after making a decision, they can barely contain their happiness. To think that months ago such a simple act, something they do daily, would make them so happy seems absurd but it’s tremendous progress in their work to break the conditioning.

“C… can we go outside today,” Aramis asks. Much of the stuttering has lessened, though there is still some that remains, especially when Aramis is nervous. They’ve long since finished their breakfast and have simply been waiting on Aramis to finish. He takes slow, hesitant bites as if he’s waiting on them to do something. He still has yet to reveal anything more about his time in captivity and they don’t push.

“You don’t have to ask to do things, ‘Mis,” Porthos says, feeling anger and sadness at his friend’s question. They’ve been working with him on doing what he wants, as long as it’s safe, for the past few weeks now and it seems that they’ve made no progress.

“Sorry, shouldn’t have asked. Stupid, stupid.” Aramis backs up to the nearest corner, turning in on himself as he mutters. They can see him preparing for a beating. In addition to being a whipping boy, it seems his captor had trained him that he wasn’t to think for himself.

“No, it’s not stupid. You’ve just been trained to think so, remember what we talked about?” He keeps his voice light and takes slow steps towards Aramis even though he knows the man won’t budge. He’s waiting to be hit and knows that moving will make the beating worse. But Porthos has no intentions of hitting him. He just wants to calm him down.

“Yes, yes. I know. Should’ve remembered. Stupid. Stupid.” He smacks his head back against the wall a few times until Porthos gets there to stop him, putting a hand on the back of his head to keep it from hitting. Aramis’ breathing picks up as he starts going into another attack.

“Aramis, you’re not stupid. Your thoughts and actions are beyond your control,” Athos says, standing next to Porthos. “You can’t help being hesitant about asking. You’ve been told that you can’t. That you’re not allowed to and if you do, you’ll be hit. Right?”

Aramis nods. His stomach is clenching as it wants to vomit and he feels unsteady. He hates this feeling. Passing out would be wonderful but it was never allowed. He has to remain awake until they let him.

“You know that you won’t be hit here for anything. You could burn the whole house down and we’d never think of punishing you for anything.”

Aramis shakes his head. He knows what they’ve told him but he can’t help his mind telling him that the second he does something he’s not been told to he’ll be beaten.

“Damnit, Aramis. What do we have to do to prove it to you?” Porthos’ voice rises and Aramis sinks to the floor, curling in on himself, shaking as his breathing turns ragged while he begins retching. Porthos curses and hits the wall at his own stupidity, which makes Aramis tense as he tries to stop panicking because he wasn’t told to but his body refuses.

“Porthos, leave,” Athos says firmly as he kneels in front of Aramis, pulling the man’s legs out straight so he can breathe easier.

“But…,” Porthos says.

“You’re only upsetting him with your anger, which I don’t disagree with but he thinks you’re going to hit him. So, step outside for a few minutes while I try to get him calm.”

Porthos looks at Athos and then Aramis before sighing. He’s right. Aramis is the worst he’s been in a while and it’s all because of him.

“Alright. Yell for me if you need help. I’ll stay outside until you say so. Sorry, ‘Mis,” Porthos adds as he leaves. With Porthos gone, Athos starts working on calming Aramis.

“You’re safe, Aramis. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you here, but you need to breathe.” He nudges up just enough to sit beside Aramis’ outstretched feet and puts a gentle hand on the man’s leg, rubbing gentle circles into it to try to calm him. He repeats the same words of reassurance as Aramis retches and wheezes.

Athos doesn’t count the minutes it takes for Aramis to finally calm down, for his breathing to settle and the retching to stop or for the muttering to fade and heartbeat to go back to a normal rate, but he does know that it takes a while judging by the changing of the sunlight that shines in. By the time Aramis is calm, he’s also exhausted. With some nudging, but mostly Athos carrying him, Athos gets Aramis to the mattress in the main room and covers him up after he curls up on the bed.

“He’s asleep,” Athos says to Porthos, stepping outside. It’s a warm day and it would have been perfect for going out, but that’ll have to be shelved for another day.

“That took a while. Is he okay?” Porthos is sitting in one of the chairs they set out to help Aramis get used to being outside again.

“Exhausted, but yes, he’s fine. How’re you?” Athos leans up against the door frame.

“Fine. Guilty and angry, but fine. I didn’t even think. I just… I hate what they did to him. He’s so far from the Aramis we know.” Porthos’ voice breaks as he speaks.

“I do too, but he is making progress.”

“You did see the same scene in there as me, didn’t you?”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the fact that he asked to do something. He wasn’t asking a few weeks ago. He didn’t even think about wanting to do something that we didn’t tell him,” Athos says.

“Seems a silly thing to be happy over.”

“To others, yes. But for Aramis and all he’s been through, this is real progress.”

“It is.” Porthos huffs lightly, nodding.

“In the middle of it, it’s hard to see. We’re seeing the day to day, Porthos.”

“And the day to day is a mess.”

“More than not right now, but we’ll make progress.”

“We’ve switched roles, you know.” When Athos raises an eyebrow in question, Porthos continues. “Back in the Garrison, I was the optimistic one, now you are. What’s happened?”

“It was that first time he talked, I think,” Athos says after a pause. “He’s still in there, we just have to be patient to find him and bring him back.”

“Even if that takes months.”

“Or years.”

“Or years,” Porthos agrees. They fall into silence, exhausted by their morning of dealing with Aramis. They alternate in going back in every so often to check on Aramis, finding him still sleeping, hidden under a mound of blankets.

It’s well into the evening when Aramis finally wakes.

“How’re you feeling,” Athos asks. Porthos is out in the dining room waiting until Aramis is more awake and Athos can be sure of his mental state. The last thing they want at the moment it to set him off again.

“Fine.” Aramis’ voice is rough with sleep.

“Truthfully, please, Aramis. You don’t have to be fine.”

“Drained?” The question in his voice is hard for Athos to hear, cutting at his heart to hear his brother so doubtful that he can be something other than okay.

“That’s not a surprise. You had a rough morning. That attack was rougher than many of the previous ones and you haven’t really eaten since yesterday. Do you think you could eat something?”

“If… if you want me to.”

“No, Aramis. It’s a question. Do you think you could eat something? You don’t have to if you feel sick.”

“Um…”

“Think about it for a bit. In the meantime, Porthos is wanting to come in. You up for that?”

Aramis nods his head and sits up on the bed, pushing the blankets down. He shivers, his body still lacking the fat and muscle to help keep it warm. Athos calls for Porthos to come in.

“You can pull the blankets back up,” Athos says. “If you’re cold, then you can pull them back up around you to stay warm.” He wants to move to pull the blankets up, but he forces him to stay there because Aramis has to make the decision.

“You good, ‘Mis,” Porthos asks as he tentatively steps in the main room. He stays near the doorway.

Aramis nods.

“I’m sorry about earlier. About getting mad this morning. It wasn’t at you and I would never hurt you no matter how angry I got. You’re my brother.” Porthos pauses, checking to see that Aramis is listening. The man is looking directly at him, as it seems he was trained to do. “I was mad at your captor. That man who trained you to think that you deserve to be punished and taught you that you weren’t to think for yourself. I wish I could bring him back to kill him again for what he did to you.”

There’s a long silence as Aramis takes in his words, the apology and explanation.

“Why,” he finally asks, confusion clear in his voice and face as he looks at Porthos.

“Why what?”

“Why are you mad at him? At master? He trained me just like he wanted. I behave now like I’m supposed to.”

“Because people aren’t supposed to train people like that, train them to accept punishment and not think. You’re a person and you deserve more than that, ‘Mis. That’s why I wish I could kill him again.”

“Not everyone has to be trained like this. Just people like me. Master always said I needed it.”

“Well, he was wrong. No one deserves that, no matter how terrible they might be and you’re far from terrible.”

“But…”

“No, Aramis. But nothing. You’re not a terrible person. You don’t deserve what happened to you. I don’t know how to make you understand that without telling you until you believe it, which I’ll do without hesitation.”

“Is that why you don’t hit me when I don’t do things right?”

“Aramis, we would never hit you. No matter how mad we get, even if it’s about stuff with you, we will never hit you. We’ll talk about it like we are now.”

“Oh. But what if it’s something really stupid.”

Porthos sighs, feeling himself entering an endless loop.

“Like what,” Athos asks, sensing the building frustration in Porthos.

“What?”

“Give me an example. What’s something that you think you should be hit for?”

“Like eat when it’s not time.”

“That’s not stupid, Aramis. If you’re hungry, then you get something to eat and if you need help, then you ask.” Athos forces down his own building frustration.

“Going hungry because some idiot told you couldn’t eat unless he told you,” Porthos says, just keeping his voice steady. Still, Aramis pauses at the slightly harsh tone.

“Calm down, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. “We’re not going to do anything. Okay?”

“O… Okay.”

“Are you hungry, Aramis,” Athos asks.

“I… I don’t know.” Aramis shrugs his shoulders, a familiar panic creeping into his voice. Porthos swallows his anger and frustration because how could Aramis not know if he was hungry. How messed up did that man get him?

“It’s fine,” Porthos says after taking a deep breath. “It’s fine, ‘Mis. We’ll work on it.”

Aramis nods. After several moments, he asks, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what,” Athos asks.

“Being nice to me. Helping me. Asking me if I want to do things. Why don’t you just tell me what to do?” Aramis’ confusion and worry grows as he speaks.

“Because, despite what you think, we see you as an equal,” Porthos says. “We’re no better than you and you’re no worse than us. We treat you as we’d like to be treated.”

“That’s… that’s…”

“It’s the right thing to do, Aramis,” Athos says. “It’s the human thing because you’re a human being who deserves more respect than that man taught you.”

“I… I don’t know anything, do I,” Aramis says after a long pause. There’s a sad note to his voice.

“You were taught wrong, Aramis,” Porthos says. “And forced to learn new rules or be beaten. It’s not your fault. It’s that man and the men who worked for him.”

“No, no. Master is good to me. He helps me learn to be better.”

Athos and Porthos can’t hide their frustrated sighs.

“Let’s try this,” Athos says after a moment. “You’ve been away from your master for a long time. How has that been for you?”

“Okay, I guess. You don’t hit me even though you get mad. I don’t know why except you say it’s not right.”

“Do you want to go back to your master,” Porthos asks, picking up on Athos’ line of thought. Porthos’ question makes Aramis pause. They see him thinking, fighting with himself as he weighs the choices. It’s further proof to them that the old Aramis is in there. They just have to break through the conditioning.

“I… um… I don’t like being hit. It hurts especially when I’m already beaten and they hit the same areas.”

“Bring hit isn’t fun at all,” Porthos agrees.

“What about Porthos’ question, Aramis,” Athos asks gently.

“I… I think I like it here,” Aramis says quietly.

“We’re really happy to hear that because we want you here, too. And what about unlearning what your master taught you?”

“I… I don’t know. He knew what he was doing in teaching me.”

“Do you like being hit?”

“No.”

“Didn’t he hit you to teach you and punish you,” Porthos asks.

Aramis nods.

“Would you like to unlearn that?”

“Y… yes.” Aramis’ voice is quiet and hesitant but they still hear a touch of assuredness.

“You know what, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. Aramis gives him a questioning look. “You’ve already made some progress in unlearning.”

“How?”

“All of this thinking, making decisions for yourself like that you don’t like to be hit and that you want to stay here.”

“Oh, I didn’t…”

“It’s a good thing, Aramis,” Athos says. “It’s a sign of what we’ve known all along.”

“What?”

“That you’re stronger than some conditioning and torture. We knew you were still in there. It was just a matter of time before you started breaking through.”

“So you think I can do this?”

“If you want to,” Porthos says.

“I… I think I do.”

“And we’ll be right here to help you.”

“Thank you,” Aramis says slightly louder. “I will try to remember what you’ve taught me.” His tone is hesitant and questioning.

“It’s okay. It’s a process,” Porthos says.

Porthos and Athos know it’s not going to be an easy time, perhaps even more difficult now because Aramis is aware that something’s not right, but progress, real progress has been made. And for the first time in the seven months since they found him, both truly feel optimistic that Aramis will reassume his duties as a Musketeer. He may not be fully back to normal by the end of their three-month deadline, but he will be to a state that they can work with him. Treville and the other Musketeers will cover for him as need be as he works to get back to his normal self.

“I think that I might be hungry after all,” Aramis says, voice still lower than usual but more confident than it has been.

“Okay,” Porthos says with a smile. “Anything you feel like?”

Aramis’ eyes widen at the question.

“Two choices, ‘Mis,” Athos says. “We’ll keep it simple for now until you get more used to things, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks.” Aramis nods, smiling slightly as he feels a comfortable warmth from their care. It’s something that he hasn’t felt in months and, until now, hadn’t realized that he missed. Comfort had been beatings and deprivation of the essentials. A big part of him still wants that but he likes the feel of the warmth, of their brotherhood. It’s going to be a long battle against the taught instincts he knows, but he wants the brotherhood that Athos and Porthos offer. He wants that more than he wants his Master because he’s tired of feeling cold and alone. He wants his home and his family.


End file.
